


Beyond what You can Bear

by BB90



Series: Wammy's House - First Generation [1]
Category: Death Note & Related Fandoms, Death Note (Anime & Manga), Death Note: Another Note
Genre: Character Study, Drama & Romance, Fluff and Angst, M/M, POV First Person, Pre-Canon, Slash, Wammy's Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-25
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-11-04 17:58:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10996038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BB90/pseuds/BB90
Summary: Exploring the dysfunctional first generation of Wammy's House — the early days with L and his first two successors, A and B.





	1. First Week

**Author's Note:**

> I wish there were more fics out there exploring the first generation of Wammy's. I'm really fascinated by the possibilities. This is going to be an open-ended exploration of those days and those relationships. AxB and BxL for sure, will probably turn darker eventually. For now it's mostly cute and fluffy and innocent, because sometimes I think B deserves to have nice things.

SUNDAY

The other boy's numbers tell me he has only three years left to live.

I find it odd, as he seems healthy. He smiles big, shakes my hand hard. He seems like a dork, but a nice dork.

He shows me around everywhere by himself; insists on it. "I've got this part, Roger," he says, waving the old man away.

My eyes tell me his name, but he tells me to call him A. I tell him to call me B, as that is the letter they stamped in gold on all my new things.

"B," he grins. "Guess I could have predicted that." He shows off the outdoor buildings first, steers us with an arm around my shoulders.

The grounds are beautiful and unkempt. I like the sprawling garden of vegetables and flowers and weeds best of all.

A points out invisible boundaries to me as we walk. "The conservatory is unsafe and off-limits," he says, "and the cemetery has a skunk problem these days. But we can use the tennis courts anytime we want, so long as L isn't around."

I ask, "Why so long as L isn't around?" I don't mention that I don't play sports.

"In case he feels like practising," he says. "He's away right now and doesn't stay here as often anymore, but you don't want to interfere with his schedule when he does. He grew up alone here, and he likes his space."

"He sounds like a bit of a prick," I say, and A bursts out laughing. It is a dorky laugh. He gives my shoulder a little shove, eyes huge.

We tour around the mansion next, peering into the many empty rooms, and then we sit in the parlour together and eat cake on an honest-to-god bearskin rug.

A is very curious about the details of my recruitment. "Did they pretend the testing was just a government thing at first?" he asks.

"Yes," I say, licking my plate clean. "But I had my doubts, even before Roger showed up. Some of those questions were suspiciously specific."

"Exactly," A laughs. "Suspiciously specific. I tried to tell them that they are not as stealthy as they think, but Roger is a stubborn old goat."

We compare notes on everything, from the waivers to the fingerprinting to the forced haircuts to the false passports, and A nods and nods and grins.

"Exactly," he says. "Yes, exactly. It's so good to have someone else here, someone near to my age, who understands what it's _like_ , what all of this absurdity is like."

I slide my hands along the soft fur of the rug beneath me, thinking I could easily get used to absurdity as luxurious as this.

He cocks his head to the side and looks down at me. "Roger was so pleased when he found you," he says. "Raved about the half-Japanese kid from the hole-in-the-wall orphanage. You speak English very well."

"My father was British," I say.

"Well good," A says. "The more languages you know the better. I am onto my fifth now. Roger's tested so many people from all over the world, but you are the only one he's actually brought back so far."

"Aside from you," I point out.

"No, I was recruited by Wammy," A says. "This was a while ago, before things were so busy." His eyes grow distant, and then he is up taking our dishes to the kitchen.

I sense he's had a lonely year. 

Maybe that is why they have us sharing a room. I am too jet-lagged to ask. I climb straight into my bed as soon as the sun drops over the horizon, and dream of fighting off a bear with a tennis racket.

 

* * *

MONDAY

I wake to the smell of bacon. A is standing in our doorway with a tray.

"They told me to bring it to you before it gets cold," he says, looking a bit shy. He is already showered and has a bag of books slung over his shoulder. He is wearing a sweater vest, and looks like he is ready for church. 

I say thanks and take the tray.

"I am going to be in the library for most of the day," A tells me. "Roger said you should just make yourself at home for now. He will start you on all of this-" he points to the books, "-once you are settled."

I nod and start slurping the pile of bacon down with my fingers.

I sleep in until noon and then spend a few minutes unpacking my things. I shelf my manga, lay out my new embossed supplies on my desk, and put up a poster. I don't own much.

A's side of the room is messy compared to his church boy clothes. He seems to collect just about everything, dust bunnies included. I kick a pile of his junk across the floor and then head downstairs to look around on my own.

The building is echoey and lonesome, like a mausoleum. I was told there are only four other people living in Wammy's House: Roger, the chef, the housekeeper, and the groundskeeper. They all sleep on the bottom floor, and we sleep in the attic. I can see why A has such a rusty laugh.

I go find him in the library after snooping through closets starts wearing thin. He is wringing his hands over a pile of notes and has an ink stain on his nose.

"Want to show me the tennis courts?" I ask.

"Not until I finish all of this," A says.

I sigh, put my feet up on the table and flip through his books while he scribbles away for an hour.

The tennis courts are in pristine condition compared to the rest of the grounds. A takes out two rackets, and we awkwardly bat the ball back and forth.

"So is L actually a prick?" I ask. I say it just because the word makes his eyes go huge again.

"No," A says. "He's not a... he's not mean or anything. He's just, oh I don't know, aloof?"

"So he's stuck up then," I say, losing the ball in the net again.

"No," A insists, running to grab the ball as it rolls by. "He's just busy, and he's quiet. He has a lot on his plate and on his mind, being who he is."

"So he won't even play tennis with you? It's a two-person game, isn't it?"

"Well, I'm not really good enough at it to make a decent match for him." A tosses the ball in the air. "I've had some lessons, but L was British junior champion a couple years back or something."

"Hmm, brilliant _and_ athletic," I say, waggling my eyebrows.

A laughs weakly, shooting me a glance. "Yeah, I guess. It's pretty hard to feel distinctive next to him, that's for sure." He tosses the ball to me and I swat it clumsily right over the fence.

A sighs and walks over to the middle of the court, lacing his fingers through the net. "No offense, but you stink at this, B. Want to do something else?"

 

* * *

TUESDAY

I discover that A makes weird noises in his sleep on my third night.

He's either dreaming he's dying or dreaming he's fucking, by the sounds of it. I can't imagine A has ever fucked before, so it's probably the first one. A pillow over my head does not help at all.

I endure A's moans for about an hour, and then I slip downstairs and nap on the beautiful bearskin rug until the windows are pink with dawn.

 

* * *

WEDNESDAY

Roger starts my lessons on the fourth day. He sits me in his office and runs through my first assignments. I must choose a third language to learn, pick an old case of L's to study, and come up with a project of my own to give myself.

I choose French to learn because I suspect that is A's first language. I pick a case L solved in Los Angeles because I have always wanted to live there. I don't yet know what project I will come up with on my own.

Roger tells me I am responsible for directing my own study habits, and that he will have meetings with me each week to check on my progress. He says I am to have my personal project picked by our next meeting. He says I would do well to take a page out of A's book in these matters, because A has an excellent work ethic unsupervised. Roger then cracks his newspaper open and leans back in his chair, and it takes me a full minute to realize I have been dismissed.

It is hard to believe he was raving about me to A.

It strikes me as unfair that Roger's numbers are so much better than A's, even though he is so old. He has more than fifteen years left, and he will probably spend most of them smelling like mothballs and sucking his teeth while he reads in his office.

 

* * *

THURSDAY

"Where does L stay when he's here, anyway?" I ask A. We are sitting in the unkempt garden, soaking up the sun.

"He takes the middle floor," A says. He scratches at his pale arms and squints down at his book while he talks.

I am in shock. "The whole middle floor? How much space does one person need?"

A shrugs. "It's always been like that. The bugs are bad out here, B."

I tear up clumps of grass with both fists and try to picture L. "What does he look like, anyway?" I imagine a snooty nose, athletic body, blond hair.

A puts a finger in his book, closes it, and props his chin on a hand to look up at me. A's eyes are patient, and pretty green like the weeds.

"He looks a bit like you," he says.

"Really?" I frown and pick strawberries off the bushes beside us. "How so?"

"He's Asian-European too, I think," A says. "Probably not much older than us. Hard to say."

I snort. "Boy, they don't give us much to go on about him, do they." I offer the berries to A, but he wrinkles his nose and shakes his head, so I pick the bugs off and eat the berries instead.

"Shouldn't you be studying?" A asks.

"I've got almost a whole week until my next meeting with Roger," I say. "Don't worry about me."

"What will you pick for your first self-assignment, though?" A asks, and scratches at his neck. “You should be thinking about that."

"What did you pick for yours?"

A says that he learned some coding and some hacking for his, and that he was only good at the coding part.

"I'll come up with something," I say. "Just have to wait for the right idea to come along." I slap a fat mosquito off A's arm and then wipe the blood with a licked thumb.

"If you say so," A sighs. "Going inside, I'm being eaten alive."

 

* * *

FRIDAY

"Ever think of cleaning up this pig-sty, A?"

"Why?" A grunts. He's shirtless, doing push-ups in a small patch he's cleared in the middle of the floor.

"It's gross," I say, watching him bob up and down. "It's distracting, and I'm trying to study my verbs."

"Wow, never thought I'd see the day," A drawls between counting his reps.

"I'll step on your back," I say. "You'll lose count."

"You should try counting for me in French," he says. "I will know if you're getting it right or not."

"I'll count for you when you clean up all your shit," I say, and throw one of his soggy towels at his head.

 

* * *

SATURDAY

The groundskeeper and the housekeeper are an old German couple who keep to themselves. The chef is a plump, motherly sort who lets me raid the pantry after I tell her she has a pretty name.

"How did you stand it for so long, being the only kid here so much of the time?" I whisper to A at dinner. The table is huge, and we are sitting wedged together at one tip of it.

A shrugs, pushing his food around his plate. "There is always something to fill the time when you're studying to be L." He thinks, then smiles. "There used to be an old cat that slept on my bed too. She was good company."

"What was her name?" Animals do not have names or numbers for me the way people do.

"She didn't have a name. I think she was L's when he was a child."

I raise my eyebrows. "Really, so he likes animals?" I help myself to A's plate.

"I guess so," A says, watching me eat his dinner. "Not shy, are you?" He grins and gives me a nudge with his knee, then goes to help the housekeeper wash up.

 

* * *

SUNDAY

"Let's go look around the old chapel," I tell A. "It is Sunday, after all." I hop onto his bed and give his shoulder a shake until he lifts his groggy head.

"Why," he asks. "I was having a good dream."

"Yeah, it sure sounded like it," I snort. "Come on, I haven't seen inside of it yet. I want to see everything."

"It's just a dusty old chapel," A protests, but he sits up and rubs his eyes, as patient with me as ever. I sift through his laundry and pass him his stupid sweater vest, thinking it might actually suit him for once.

It is indeed just a dusty old chapel, but the pools of jewelled light from the stained-glass windows are nothing short of beautiful. I sit on the floor in the middle of one of them and A laughs, saying how cool it looks and that he wishes he had a camera. Then he suddenly gets solemn.

"Wow," he says. "Your eyes look crazy right now, B."

"Really?" I am startled. Nobody has ever seen anything strange about my eyes before, despite all they can do.

"Yeah." He comes to kneel beside me in the light, staring, and puts his hands on my shoulders. He leans in very close. "They look like blood, or fire, or rubies," he whispers, looking back and forth between them.

"Huh," I say. I am lost in his lovely green ones, which haven't changed a bit. My shoulders tingle under his hands. We stare at each other until the moment becomes heavy and A suddenly realizes, gets shy.

"Anyways," he blurts, standing up too fast. He walks to the front of the chapel, chewing his nails, and starts flipping through the big Bible on the pulpit.

I think about it for a long minute, then make up my mind. I rise to my feet and go to stand next to him at the altar. I peek at him sideways from under my lashes.

He won't look at me. His cheeks are very pink.

"Are you religious, A?"

He nods, staring hard at the book. "Sort of," he says. "My parents raised me that way, and it makes me feel close to them to read scripture."

"Well, what's your favourite verse, then?" I put an arm around his shoulders and lean in with him over the pages. He is very warm, and smells good.

"I have a lot of them," A mumbles. "Want me to read you some?" he adds, because A can never not be polite.

"Mhmm," I say, watching him.

He flips for a while, finds Hebrews, and reads: _"Now faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see."_

"Hmm," I say. "Interesting. Read me another one?"

He nods, leafs the pages to 2 Timothy, reads: _"For the spirit God gave us does not make us timid, but gives us power, love and self-discipline."_

"Self-discipline is always good," I say, trailing my hand across his back and watching him shiver. He shoots me a sharp glance, and I stop at once, return my eyes to the book and my hand to his shoulder.

"Read me another?" I ask, thumb on my lips.

A pauses, but in the end his good manners win out. He licks his finger and leafs through the pages for me again. I make a furtive study of him, trying hard not to see the numbers above his head. He has a sweet face up close, when it blushes.

 _"1 Corinthians 10:13,"_ he whispers next to me. _"No temptation has overtaken you except what is common to mankind..."_

"Mhmm," I hum, looking down at the Bible. My hand creeps up over his collar to graze the back of his neck.

A falters, shudders, keeps going: _"And, God is faithful; He will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear..."_

I am staring right at the side of his face now, willing him to look at me. I want to put my nose in his hair, but just slide my fingers through it instead, tuck it behind his ear.

 _"...He will also provide a way out so that you can endure it,"_ A gasps, then twists away, shaking me off. "What are you doing?" His voice is shrill, eyes huge.

"Nothing," I say stupidly.

"I think I should go." He crosses his arms around his ribs, backing down the steps. His face is on fire.

"I'm sorry A," I blurt, holding my palms up like a criminal. "It was just... I was just..."

"Don't worry about it," he says, and then he's fleeing out the door.

Fuck.

I know it's bad when I don't see him at lunch, or in the library, or at the dinner table. I get more studying done that evening than all the other days put together, but my stomach is in knots.

I can't go back to our room because I am afraid he is in there. I decide that tomorrow I will ask Roger to give me a room of my own so I won't have to see a look like that on A's face again. I'm sure L can spare one measly room from his floor, I think.

I curl up on the bearskin rug that night, hugging my knees, feeling foolish and wrong.

Sometime later I wake from bad dreams to hear feet padding into the parlour.

I don't dare move. I pretend I am still asleep.

The feet step onto the fur of the rug behind me. There is a long pause, and then I feel a hand on my shoulder.

"B," A whispers. He gives me a small shake. "B."

I don't turn over. I keep my eyes shut.

"B, it's okay," he sighs. "Are you okay?"

I open my eyes, staring ahead into the dark. I shrug, not trusting my voice.

"You should go to bed," A whispers. "It's so late."

"No, I like it here," I whisper back finally. "It's nice."

"Nicer than your bed?"

"Yes," I hiss. "Don't worry about me. Goodnight."

He sighs and lets go of my shoulder. I think he is going to leave me there, but then I feel the warmth of his body as he lies down right beside me on the rug. My heart thumps hard as A tucks an arm around me and rests his head against my back.

"You're stubborn, aren't you," he whispers next to my ear. "I'm sorry about before. I was just surprised. I didn't know."

I swallow, mind racing to figure out what exactly A didn't know.

He tucks his knees up against mine from behind and yawns. "I guess I feel like I've known you for longer than a week already," he says. "I forgot there are a lot of things we still don't know about each other."

I lick my lips, willing my heartbeat to slow. I bet he feels it on his cheek. I have not been this close to anyone in a very long time, but I think it has been even longer for A, and it is not fair that he is so calm.

His hand pets my wrist, and he nuzzles into my neck. "Is it okay if I sleep like this?" he asks. "It is nice down here, isn't it."

I nod once, and then we just lay there like that for ages, breathing in and out together.

"I'm sorry if I freaked you out," I finally whisper into the dark, after a very long time.

A doesn't answer. He's snoring softly against my ear. I sigh and snug his arm into my chest, lift his knuckles to my lips. I fall asleep.


	2. Second Week

 

* * *

MONDAY

A wakes me with a gentle yawn beside my ear. The birds are singing, and the windows are coated in dew. The two of us untangle from each other and sit up slowly, rubbing our eyes.

A stands, looking like he's feeling just about as silly as I do.

“Well, I hope we get croissants today,” he finally says, not quite making eye contact. Then he does, and offers a hand to help me to my feet.

“You go find out,” I say. “I want to change before I eat.” I am still wearing yesterday's clothes, and now they are damp from spooning with A in bear fur all night.

“I'll try to save you a seat,” A jokes, and then we part ways in the hall.

When I get up to our room, I have to do a double-take. It is spotless. I have never seen so much floor. His bed is made, and all his collections are on shelves. Even his towels are hung up to dry. 

Maybe I should embarrass A into hiding in his room all day more often, I think.

We don't have croissants, but we do have waffles. I eat four of them, and A brings me a glass of milk from the kitchen.

“I have to study my ass off today,” I sigh.

"Welcome to my world,” he says.

We study all day in the library, legitimately study, and by the end of it I can hold a full twenty minute conversation with him in French. A laughs at how I roll my R's, but says I have the best grasp of grammar he's ever seen in a beginner.

A is studying Mandarin now. I can't help him with it, but I can tell he is getting very good.

His current self-assignment is to catalogue all law enforcement agencies of the world, and come to understand the ins and outs of each of them. He's been at it for several months now, and the binder he keeps for it is more than a foot thick.

“Have you picked your personal project yet?” he asks me as I heft the binder high over my head.

“You could kill someone with this if you dropped it off a roof, easy,” I say, waving it around.

“I'll take that as a no," he says.

“I'm still thinking about it," I say. "Here, catch.”

A grunts as he catches the binder and stuffs it back into his bag, almost ripping it at the seams. “B, you have what now, two days left?”

“I can keep track of the days of the week just fine by myself, thanks." I tug him across the library by his shoulder strap. “Come on, time for dinner.”

We get quiet and turn our backs to each other when we change our clothes for bed.

I stare at the shape of him in the dark for a while after he falls asleep. The numbers still glow mercilessly above his head.

I roll over into my pillow and wish, as I sometimes do, that I could pluck my eyeballs right out of my skull.

 

* * *

TUESDAY

“I know what I'm going to do for my project now,” I announce to A. We are back in the garden again, have been sent to pick every last ripe strawberry for the chef.

“I'm all ears," A says. He's already filled three baskets to the brim.

“This case of L's I am studying, it seems like he puts a lot of stock into being very secretive," I say. "Stealth is the name of the game, as is hiding your identity.”

“Right," A says, looking at me sideways. “Hence the aliases and all.”

“So I want to learn how to do that really, really well," I say. "I want to become a master of disguise.”

A leans back on his hands and laughs and laughs. “That's such a weird first project to pick, B.”

“I think it will be fun," I say, and toss a big berry at his head. “You just wait, you won't even know who you are sharing a room with half the time.”

“Well, it will be interesting to hear what Roger has to say about that.” A picks up the berry I threw at him and puts it in his basket.

 

* * *

WEDNESDAY

“Absolutely not,” Roger says.

“But why?” I ask. “L is all about hiding his identity. I think it could be a very useful skill.”

“L hides his identity behind computers, aliases, and encrypting his personal information,” Roger informs me, rubbing his temples. “There is no playing dress-up involved.”

I frown and kick the bottom of his desk. “Well, maybe there should be.”

“There won't be,” Roger sighs. “Not on my watch. You'll think of another project by our next meeting, or I'll come up with something for you. Now please, let's move onto the verbal exam.”

A puts a soothing arm around me as we sit together in the parlour and watch garbage reruns on TV.

“Roger is a prick,” I say. “I wish he would go die.”

“He is a bit stuffy,” A nods. “I think you should practise disguises anyway, on your own time. I bet you would be good at it.”

“This is a stupid show,” I grumble. “There aren't even any good action scenes.”

A hums in agreement. I slide down on the couch and wedge my head into his shoulder, and he pets my arm and rubs my back until I nearly fall asleep.

 

* * *

THURSDAY

“Check it out,” I tell A. I am standing on the wobbly bedside table, staring out the high window in our room.

“What?” A comes over and I tug him up to stand beside me. “Easy, I might fall.”

I hold him tight to my side and point far off to the left. “See, over there.”

A rubs the fog off the pane. “I think I might need glasses,” he sighs, then squints. “Oh, would you look at that,” A says, nodding. “An old man with lawn clippers. Absolutely fascinating.”

“Well, it's a bit weird, isn't it?” I say, pinching his hip, and he almost falls right off the table. “The groundskeeper is actually doing his job for once," I say. "The garden is weeded, the hedges are trimmed, and now it looks like he's getting the lawnmower out. Why so busy all of a sudden?”

“I know exactly why,” A says after a moment.

“Why?”

“That also explains what they needed the strawberries for,” A muses, rubbing his chin.

“What?”

A hops down from the table, looking up at me. “I'm sure you'll be able to figure it out on your own, being a future detective and all."

“Not fair,” I frown. “I've only been at it for a week now.”

He smiles and picks up his gigantic binder. “My meeting with Roger is in an hour, so I'll see you at dinner, B.”

 

* * *

FRIDAY

“I've finally figured it out,” I tell A, pulling the book right out of his hands. 

“Finally figured what out?” He sits up and reaches for the book, and I put it behind my back.

“Why they're making such a fuss over everything now,” I say, climbing onto the bed and looking down at him.

“Is that right?” He lunges to snatch the book, and I grab his shoulder to hold him back. “B, I need to finish that.”

“L is coming for a visit," I say, tossing the book right to the floor and putting my hands on both of A's shoulders. “I just saw the housekeeper going to the middle floor with a stack of bedding.”

A frowns and tries to wrestle me off the mattress, but I pin his arms flat and pull his back snug against my chest. “Say uncle.”

“B, you're going to get me kicked out of Wammy's,” A whines. “I haven't finished a single book since you've arrived.” He squirms and kicks at my legs.

“I'll let you go if you tell me that I'm right."

“You're right, you're right,” he says, and I let him go. A shifts away from me, frowning, and reaches down to get his book. “L will probably be here by this weekend," he says.

After dinner we waste time wandering around the building. “Might as well get our fill of freedom now before L takes up half the goddamned house,” I say.

We sneak into the cellar after dark, because A knows where they hang the hidden key for it.

“Oh man." I tug open a stiff door in the corner. “Look at all these barrels.”

“That's probably old communion wine, from when the chapel was still a thing," A whispers.

I wrestle one of the barrels out and roll it over between us. “Well then, let's _commune."_

A looks very unsure, crossing his arms over his ribs. “B," he says. "That's probably not a good idea.”

“Sure it is.” I tug at the cork with my teeth. “Ow. Fuck, I'll need a knife or something.” Eventually I get it uncorked with a pair of coal tongs, and then I go snatch two empty mason jars from the kitchen.

A is just sitting in the corner of the cellar, not helping me at all, wringing his hands. “What if Roger finds out?”

“Then I'll take all the heat for it. Don't worry so much, A. We've been working hard, and now we'll play.” I fill a jar and hand it to him, and then fill another one for myself.

We sit in the corner of the cellar on a broken sofa for a while and drink the sour wine. A makes a face every time he sips it. “I can't believe people _like_ this stuff,” he says. “It tastes the way the compost pile smells.”

“That's no way to speak about the sacred blood of your Lord,” I tell A solemnly. “Try plugging your nose maybe, it's not so bad that way.”

By the third jar, A's face is flushed, and his eyes are looking soft. I try to stay at least one jar ahead. It isn't too long until my whole body feels like it's floating in a warm bath, and my smile has a mind of its own.

“You ever been drunk before, B?” A asks dopily after a while.

“Once or twice," I say. "I think I'm getting there again.”

“Me too.” He smiles. “I can hardly feel my toes.”

“Really?” Before I even know what I'm doing, I'm down on the floor, taking his shoe and sock off and rubbing his bare foot between my palms. “How about now?” I ask, gazing up at him.

A laughs and lolls his head to the side, watching me doing it. “Okay, yes, now I can. You're so weird, B.” He takes another sip of wine. “Huh, it doesn't taste so bad anymore," he mumbles, then downs the whole thing in one gulp.

“I'll bring the barrel over.” I drag it right up next to us, then pick up his foot and rest it between my knees again, start massaging his toes.

“Hmm, that feels so nice,” A says dreamily, and fills up his mason jar again.

“Go easy A," I say, kneading my knuckles into his ankle. “Don't want to make yourself sick, now.”

“I'm fine,” he slurs, taking another huge swig. “Here, I'll share.” He leans forward and pushes his jar up to my lips, and I grunt and take a sloppy drink, getting more on his leg than into my mouth. “Oops," he mumbles. "Got some on you.” A sets the jar to the side, pulls his foot away from my hands, and leans down to wipe the trickles off my chin.

Our eyes meet again, just like they did in the church.

And then, this time, A tugs me forward. My gasp is swallowed up by the press of a warm kiss, a wine soured tongue lapping gently at mine. I hum happily and yank A down onto my lap; then we are making out like crazy, pressing hard together against the base of the couch, and I can't believe my luck, it is so good.

“I really like you, B,” A whispers into my mouth after a while, his hands up in my hair. Mine are on his lower back, trying to drag his hips down to me, but his knees are locked tight around my ribs.

“I like you more,” I grunt, tugging at his belt loops.

A sighs and presses more soft kisses to my forehead, my eyelids, my cheeks, my nose, and soon I am so warm and so hard I can barely stand the clothes I'm wearing. “You're burning up,” he whispers, stroking my cheeks, and I growl and throw him flat onto the couch. I climb right on top, crush him down into the cushions, nibbling his earlobe, licking at his neck, tugging his collar down to gain more access to that smooth throat, more, more, I need more. I whisper to him how hard I am, and when A feels me grinding up against his thigh his eyes go huge and he whimpers something very impolite in French. I am shirtless and halfway through getting A's pants undone when he lurches up and puts a palm to my chest.

“Hnn, B, wait,” he groans, eyes glassy. “Stop, wait.”

“What is it?” My voice is pained. I want nothing more than to yank his pants down and take him deep into my mouth, but I wait.

He sits up, all wobbly, his face now pale green. “Going to be...” He leans over the edge of the couch and vomits red all over the cement.

“Oh, Christ, A."  I sigh, shrugging my shirt back on. “Let's get you up to bed.”

He crawls forward, pukes again, and then we get his sock and shoe back on, and somehow make it up to the attic unnoticed. I tuck him in with a bucket near his head and a glass of water on his nightstand. He is already drifting off to sleep, but he mutters something about being very sorry and that he just needs to rest his eyes for one minute.

I kiss his forehead goodnight, tell him I'll be right back. I mop up the floor in the cellar, spread sawdust around on the stains. I sweep it up, then roll the wine barrel back to its closet. I jerk off twice in the bathroom, and then I go to bed.

 

* * *

SATURDAY

Somehow, things do not feel very weird between us in the morning. I don't think A remembers anything after the foot rub.

“How did I get back to bed last night?” he frowns, and I tell him the story, minus all the talking and kissing. It feels too creepy now to describe it out loud like that, knowing that he doesn't remember.

We both have wine-stained lips, and spend a good deal of time in front of the mirror with our toothbrushes, trying to scrub the damning evidence off.

“I don't know, let's just put on dark lipstick and pretend it's part of your weird master of disguise stuff,” A grumbles after a while. “I'm never drinking wine again.”

“Never say never,” I advise, because all I want in the world is for A to drink enough wine with me for things like that to happen again. “Just have to learn to pace yourself, A.”

“Maybe," he sighs, rinsing his toothbrush and putting it away. “I'm just going to go eat a purple popsicle and blame it on that instead. You want one?”

We eat our popsicles as messily as possible on the front porch of Wammy's, watching the groundskeeper fertilize the flowerbeds.

“Do you think L will arrive today?” I ask.

“Definite possibility,” A says. “You excited?”

“Not exactly," I say. "Curious, though. I want to make him play tennis with me.”

A laughs, biting his popsicle in half. “Living life on the dangerous edge, I see.”

“What's the worst that could happen?" I ask. "He'll say no? I'll lose?”

“Oh, you'll definitely lose," A says. "But I don't know, I just wouldn't want to make things awkward with him your first time meeting him, that's all.”

I snort. “ _He's_ the one making it awkward, with all his fussy rules about his space and stuff.”

“Well, you should probably try to behave yourself, anyways," A says. "It's pretty important for us to get L's approval, don't you think?”

“I won't know until I meet him if I think that," I say. "I'm pretty okay with not being liked by everyone. If he's a prick, then I won't care.”

“I already told you that he isn't," A sighs.

“Yeah, but you are like, the nicest person alive," I say, and take A's popsicle stick to put in the trash. “I can hardly trust the opinion of the nicest person alive, can I?”

 

* * *

SUNDAY

Our room is getting messy again. It was nice while it lasted, but now there is a slow creep of junk spreading from A's bed and across the floor. I wake up earlier than him today, so I go for a walk around the grounds and once again have a think about my first self-assignment.

It's no use. I can't think of a thing. All I want to imagine is A's hot little mouth on mine, his sweet whispered words, the creaking couch beneath us. 

I go to the library and read dry books on criminal law for a while, trying desperately to forget it all, forget everything like A did. I am deep into the section on Participatory Offenses when A comes into the library, bag of books in tow. He's dressed sharp today, as if for a job interview, no sweater vest in sight. He looks very nice, and it's very annoying.

“Is that whole get-up for L?” I gesture to his clothes.

A nods and sits beside me, pulling out his books. “Chances are he's going to arrive today, so I thought I'd be prepared, you know.”

I look down at my black jeans and T-shirt. “Well, _I'm_ not going to change," I scowl.

A pulls out his binder, uncaps his pen, starts chewing it. “I never said you should," he says.

We stay up very late in the big hall window seat, sitting there watching for cars. Eventually A droops down until his head is in my lap, and I stroke his hair and tell him all sorts of stories about growing up in Japan. He listens, blinks sleepily, pets my leg with a lazy hand. 

We are both just about sound asleep when there is the sweep of headlights across the window and the sound of gravel crunching under tires. A and I jerk awake and stare down at the Bentley limo pulling up to the front.

An old man gets out, grabbing suitcases from the trunk.

“That's Wammy,” A says.

A boy our age gets out, rubbing his neck, and looks around.

“That's L."

His face turns up towards the window, and my breath catches in my chest.

Oh no, I think. He is _beautiful_.


	3. Third Week

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! 
> 
> Initially I wanted to wait until I had the full third week written before posting, but the first two days ended up being pretty long on their own. I also don't want to drag out updates forever - not only is that annoying for readers, but I tend to get very fussy fiddling with things and just not want to post at all if I wait too long between updates - so screw it, we'll just post now. Hopefully I will get the rest of the third week up soon, too. Should be fun having L in the mix.
> 
> Thank you so, so much to the lovely people who reviewed on the last chapters, feedback like that means the world. :)

SUNDAY

L is looking right up into the window. Our eyes meet and I gasp, jerking back like it burns me.

“I think he sees us,” A says. He starts waving.

“I don't want him to see us,” I blurt, and grab A's hand without thinking.

“What?” A looks down at our linked fingers. “Why?”

I stare down at them too. “Um. No reason.” I let go of his hand, feeling very confused. “I think I'm going to go to bed now," I mumble. "Goodnight.” I hop down off the window seat and bump straight into Roger.

Roger is looking stern and wearing a housecoat. “Boys,” he says. “It's very late. What on earth are you doing out of bed?"

“Sorry Roger,” A says. “We were waiting up for L and Mr. Wammy to arrive."

“I see,” Roger sighs. “Well, I suppose you should come along with me to say hello, since you're both already awake.” He takes us by the elbows and ushers us down the stairs.

I am panicking now. No, no, this isn't good, I think.

“Um, maybe I will meet them tomorrow instead," I say, and try to pull my arm away.

“Nonsense,” Roger insists. “It will only take a minute.”

“But I'm very tired and I want to go to bed,” I protest. Roger just ignores me. A tosses me an odd look, and I don't really blame him.

I need to get a grip, I think. L might be beautiful, but he is probably just a prick.

Roger takes us into the empty parlour and tells us to sit down, that he will be right back. A obediently sits in a chair. I think about running away, running right back up the stairs, but know I wouldn’t get away with it if I did. In the end I just sigh and perch beside A on the arm of his chair. 

A looks up at me, and I look down at him. He gives me a sweet smile. “Don't be nervous,” he says finally, patting my knee. His dress shirt is all rumpled now from him napping on my legs. I slip a hand down behind his shoulders, taking comfort in his warmth.

Soon Roger and Wammy come into the room. Wammy looks tired from the trip. His tie hangs loose, and he's holding a bowler hat in his hands. He smiles and says good evening to us, and we say good evening back. I look up at the numbers above Wammy's head; they are not as good as Roger's, but they are better than A's.

Roger serves us all tea. He nods towards me and introduces me as B. He says that I am a promising boy, very promising indeed. Wammy says he's pleased to hear it, and congratulates me on being Roger's very first recruit. I say thanks, but I am distracted; I am watching the doorway, waiting anxiously for L.

Roger tells Wammy that he found me in Japan, and that I am very skilled with numbers in particular. He says that I have an unusual creative streak, too; that I'm already thinking outside the box in very peculiar ways. I remember my last meeting with Roger and almost snort. He did not much care for my creative streak then, I think.

Wammy is pleased, says that imagination is invaluable in L's line of work. He asks me how I am getting along, and if everything is comfortable enough for me here. I tell him that everything is fine, and that A helped me to feel at home right away. Wammy takes one look at me perched up on A's chair with my arm tucked behind A's back, and says yes, we seem to be getting along famously. Roger agrees and mutters into his cup something about us being thick as thieves. Wammy smiles at that and says that he supposes it's high time A had a friend his age to spend the days with. He claims that A looks happier than he's ever seen him look before.

A says nothing, just stares shyly into his lap. I am petting his shoulder secretly behind us.

Roger looks at us shrewdly for a moment more. Then he says yes, he's noticed that A does not have his nose stuck in a book nearly so often these days. I can't quite be sure of it, but it almost sounds like he thinks that is a bad thing.

“B and I do lots of studying together,” A mumbles defensively, voice quiet. His hand creeps forward on the chair to rest against my foot.

"Glad to hear it," Wammy says. “Yours is a fine example for any new student to follow, A. I look forward to seeing what you've been working on these past few months.”

“A's latest project is remarkable,” Roger says proudly, as if he had something to do with it. “B would do well to take a detailed look at it, perhaps.”

“Did L already go to bed?” A asks, maybe just to change the subject. His thumb slides up and down my ankle, giving me a shiver.

“L is in the kitchen,” Wammy says. “He claimed he was in the mood for something a bit more substantial than tea.”

I think back to when A and I were sent to pick those strawberries. The chef used them up making cakes, tarts, and pies: all of L's favourites, according to A. Neither of us have been offered a crumb.

We sit in the parlour for an hour more while Roger and Wammy discuss all the news. L never once shows up in the doorway, and after two more cups of tea we boys are finally sent off to bed.

“I guess you'll have to meet L tomorrow,” A says as he puts on pyjamas.

"He knew that we were up,” I say, beating my pillow into a fluffier shape. “He saw us in the window.”

“Maybe he was feeling shy," A suggests.

“Really,” I snort as I pull off my socks. “L seem like the shy type to you?”

“No,” A sighs. “Not really.” He leaves his nice clothes crumpled in a pile on the floor. “Maybe his cake was just too good to share?”

“I hope he died choking on a strawberry," I grumble, and A laughs as he flicks off the lights.

 

* * *

MONDAY

I wake up at dawn with a fierce need to piss, thanks to all that tea before bed. I grab my shampoo, decide to shower while I'm at it, to get up for the day. I like wandering Wammy's in the early hours best of all, anyway. The lonesomeness of everything seems intentional for once.

I open the bathroom door, and my heart almost leaps out of my chest. L is in the bathroom. L is right there, brushing his teeth.

“Oh,” I blurt. “It's you.” I slam the bathroom door shut again, then realize too late that I'm on the wrong side of it. I've lost my mind completely and I've closed myself inside with L. 

Fuck.

L is frozen, just staring, toothbrush stuck in his mouth. He is taller than me and looks older up close, like he could drive a car or maybe sneak into a bar. His hair is wet and longish, his eyes huge and dark. He’s the one wearing nothing but boxers, but I'm the one who's blushing.

L pulls his toothbrush out of his mouth after a long minute and bends to spit into the sink. “You're dripping,” he murmurs as he rinses. His voice is low and rumbly, as beautiful as the rest of him.

“What?”

L turns to gaze up at me, and my heart stutters in my chest. “You're dripping,” he says again, and then he points at my waist with his toothbrush.

I look down and see that I’ve squeezed my shampoo bottle open. It's oozing all over the floor. “Oh," I say. "Yes, look at that.” I snap the lid shut again and feel the blush spread to my ears.

L stares at me some more. Then he stands up straight and slowly pulls the wet towel off his shoulder. He holds it out in front of him between us by two fingers, like it's the filthiest thing in the world. I blink down at it for a bit, confused.

“For the floor,” he finally says to me, as if it should be obvious. “You made the floor all slippery.” He's wanting me to take it from him.

“Oh,” I say, and then I slip on the tiles. L catches me by the collar just before my skull cracks open on the floor.

“See."

“Yeah.” I am clinging to his hands, gazing up into his eyes. “You have amazing reflexes."

He's just staring down at me like I'm crazy.

L Lawliet, I think dizzily. Lawliet. A beautiful name for a beautiful person. His numbers are the same as Quillsh Wammy's, right down to the minute. L doesn't even have a decade left, and it feels like a punch to the gut. 

Everyone at Wammy's has such terrible numbers, I think. I'm thankful as always that I can't see my own.

L pulls me to my feet without a word. He drops his towel on the floor and shifts me to stand on top of it, then lets go of my shirt.

“I'm B,” I tell him, shuffling the towel around the floor with my toes.

“Yes." L rinses his spit out of the sink. “I know.”

“You do?” I am startled. “They told you about me?”

L drops his toothbrush in its holder. “Mhm. Roger mentioned there would be another one here when I got back.”

Huh, I think. Another one.

"Another what?" I ask him, kicking his soggy towel aside.

L picks at his chin in the mirror as he speaks. "Another one like A," he mutters, and I see it on his face at once. It's in the tiny quirk of his mouth, the dull glint of his eyes. 

The mockery, the disdain.  

"One seemed like quite enough to me," he adds. "But here you are."

I cross my arms and I narrow my eyes.

A seemed like quite enough to L, did he? Sweet, long-suffering A. A in his nicest clothes, falling asleep at the window. A with his good manners and his Bible verses and his five languages and his huge binder. A wringing his hands in the library, sitting alone in all the empty rooms and at all the empty tables. A with all the thoughtful excuses for L, and L's behaviour.

What a prick L is, I decide. He could probably use a good kick in the pants more than he could use another goddamn piece of cake.

“Yes, here I am," I say. "You know, you really should have said hello to A last night. He waited for hours just to greet you.” I don't mention that I waited, too.

“Did he?” L says slowly, as if he is surprised. He straightens up and faces me, pressing a thumb to his lips. "Hmm." His eyes roll up to the ceiling, then back down to me. “Then yes,” he finally concludes, “I probably should have.” He looks so very serious, but he might as well be wearing a smirk.

“So you admit that you were being very rude," I say.

“No ruder than barging in on someone in the washroom,” L says dryly after a minute. “This middle floor is mine, you know. This bathroom is my bathroom.”

"So I've been told," I snort. "And it's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. Nobody needs an entire floor to themselves, and I certainly won't stand for it.”

L's eyes go comically wide at that. “You won't?”

“No. I live here full-time-" I jab a finger at his chest, "-unlike _you..._  and I've been using this bathroom since day one. It's the closest to the attic and it has the best shower. I'm not going to stop using it just because you're around.”

“Hmm,” he answers slowly. “Then you should probably learn to knock.”

Now it's my turn to stare. I did not at all expect L to allow me to keep using it, just like that. 

“Well..." I mutter. "I'm only going to knock if I feel like it." It comes out stupider than I hoped.

“Is that so.” L tilts his head to the side, like I am some sort of amusing pet.

“Yes, that _is_ so.” I frown and get right up in his face. “It's as much my bathroom as it is yours, L. So you should just learn to lock the door."

L is silent for a long moment, but something is glinting in his eyes. "B isn't very shy, is he?"

"What should I be shy for?"

L doesn't answer my question, but he takes a step towards me.

"There's nothing to be shy about," I snap, even as now I am backing away. "You are just another person like the rest of us. Nothing so special at the end of the day, and not so important as to need your very own bathroom on your very own floor."

L actually smiles at that, and my heart jolts in my chest as he takes another step closer, then another. Too close, too close for someone so beautiful, someone who is wearing so little.

“Hmm,” L hums, backing me right up against the wall. “Well, I'm not used to sharing this bathroom with anyone, so I might still forget to lock it sometimes.”

My hand is groping blindly for the doorknob now. "Then you better not complain about me barging in on you," I say. "It would be very stupid if you did."

L says nothing to that, just nibbles his thumbnail and stares as I blush. 

His gaze is so intense that I can't meet it, but when I look down I am met with his front — the tennis-sculpted shoulders, lean stomach, the tiny trail of hair, his hips — no, no, that is not helpful either, there is nothing reassuring about that...

"Getting a good look, B?" L asks softly.

I gasp, turn my head away.

"Hmm?" He props his arm up on the wall right beside me and starts to lean down close.

"No," I blurt stupidly, "I didn't!" Then I'm fleeing out the door. I can hear L laughing quietly about it my whole way down the hall.

As soon as I reach the other floor's bathroom I fall against the counter and groan into my hands.

Strawberries, I think wildly. Mint. He smells like strawberries and mint. 

That was not at all how I expected to meet L.

I skip the shower altogether because I left my shampoo on L's floor. I just piss, wash my hands, and scurry back up to the attic as fast as I can.

I am ridiculously happy to see A when I get back to our room. Sweet, familiar A with the flannel pyjamas and the bubble-gum toothpaste scent. I want to kiss him all over, but I just climb into his bed and hug him instead.

“Morning,” A yawns. “You're up early.”

You're so warm,” I sigh into his hair. “And you smell like heaven."

“Hm, thanks,” A mumbles into my chest. “I try.”

I let him go after a moment and then I tell him about my encounter with L. I leave out the parts where I embarrass myself — which is almost every part — but A still can't stop laughing.

“He was in his boxers?” he gasps.

“Yeah. But he didn't seem to care that much.”

“Oh my god. And you told him he was rude?”

“Well he was. I mean, he _is_.”

“You said he had to share his bathroom?”

I nod. “You should use it too, A. It's a lot nicer than the other one.”

A shakes his head at me, eyes huge. "Jeez. Only you, B. I would have rather died.”

We don't see L once for the rest of the day, much to my relief. A shrugs and says he is probably off somewhere with Wammy, doing impressive and secretive things.

“So did you think he was a jerk?” A asks me late that night. We are curled up together on the bearskin rug, pretending to watch TV.

"He's the biggest jerk I've ever met."

A huffs out a laugh against my hair. "Really?"

"I have never been more sure of anything in my life."

"Seems a bit harsh, B," A says after a minute. "He couldn't have been _that_ bad. He's sharing his bathroom with you now, isn't he?"

I snort. "There is so much more to being a nice person than that."

A sighs and doesn't say anything back for a while, so I roll over on the rug to look him right in the eye. "L thinks he is much more incredible than he is," I say solemnly, and I cup A's sweet face in my hands.

A's green eyes are shining at me with something close to hope. "A lot of other people think L is pretty incredible, B."

"Yes, well." I stroke A's lips with my thumbs, and his cheeks go very warm against my palms. "A lot of other people think stupid things all the time, A."

A laughs a little. "I mean _I_ do," he confesses. "I think L is brilliant."

I sigh and lean in to press our foreheads together. "L is not brilliant. L is a twat."

"You shouldn't say things like that where someone might hear you," A whispers breathlessly. He is staring at my mouth.

"Then maybe we shouldn't talk," I say, and press my lips to his. 

A melts into me with a sigh and slips his hands into my hair, and soon it is just like that night on the couch, all clumsy and heated and wonderfully good. We make out for a while, and it is so good that I want to do more, but A is much shyer now without the wine. He grabs me by the wrists whenever I try, shooting guilty glances at the door.

"Not here, B," he whispers at last. "Someone might walk in on us."

"Okay," I murmur, running my lips up and down his throat. "You want to go upstairs instead?"

A's hips buck against me when I get to his ear. "Ah!" he whimpers, arching bashfully away. "Uh, I think we should go to bed."

"Mm, me too," I hum into his ear.

"I mean, like, to _sleep_ ," he gasps.

"Oh." I pull back from his ear to stare at him. "Like, _sleep_ sleep?"

He nods, not meeting my eyes.

"In separate beds?"

"Well no." He kisses my cheeks, my nose, my forehead. "But to really honestly sleep, I'm pretty tired. Is that okay?"

I nod and let him kiss me, and then we go up and snuggle into my bed. At least this time he wasn't drunk, and will remember it all the next day.

"B," A whispers into the silence when I am almost asleep.

"Mm?" I keep my eyes shut tight. I never look at A in the night anymore; his numbers glow too well in the dark.

"You really think L is that bad?" He sounds worried. "I mean, you weren't just saying all of that as a joke."

I force myself to think about L for a while — about his beautiful face and body and his ugly, smirking words. "Yes, I think he is that bad," I finally say. "I didn't like him as a person, and I can't wait until he leaves again."

"Oh. Well jeez, then I guess you're in for a real treat."

"What? Why?"

"Because," A says slowly, "L's on his summer vacation now. He's going to be living with us for the next six weeks."

My eyes shoot wide open in the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AUTHOR'S NOTE 09.30.18 - So after a long hiatus I've decided this is a finished part one of what might be an ongoing first generation of Wammy's House series. There's certainly plenty more to be done with this world and I could definitely end up adding to it in the future. Thanks so much for reading!
> 
> Please find me on Tumblr at 13eyond13.tumblr.com if you ever want to chat.


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